


Angels Don't Have Birthdays

by heyacas (lilypond)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Facials, Frottage, Human Castiel, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:57:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilypond/pseuds/heyacas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean has strong opinions about birthdays and Cas is just along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

> Post season 8. Nothing to do with canon season 9.

Angels do not have birthdays.

They are not _born_ in any sense, for one thing. There was no grand singular moment in which Castiel came into being. It was a transition over eons, a distinct and separate being slowly coalescing from formless celestial energy, and from there a long, slow awakening into conscious thought. Castiel as a whole existed long before he was _Castiel_.

Dean scrubs his hand over his face in frustration. "Cas, you're kind of missing the point."

"It's really not that big a deal," Sam says when Cas has been staring at his hands for too long.

"Like hell it isn't," Dean says, glaring between them. "We all get to celebrate a birthday except for him? That's messed up."

"I don't understand what a birthday celebrates, exactly," Cas muses quietly. "This has never been relevant before. And it's not as though being born was an achievement of _yours_ , was it? After all, it was your parents -"

"Nah, they get their own holidays," Dean shakes his head impatiently, waving the thought away. "Your birthday isn't celebrating something you did, it's just celebrating...well, _you_. Like, just for existing, for being you, get it?"

Castiel's face brightens and he sits up a little straighter. "Oh! When is _your_ birthday, Dean?"

If Dean is at all uncomfortable with the ex-angel's sudden enthusiasm at the idea of celebrating _him_ , he doesn't show it.

"No changing the subject. You gotta pick a birthday, dude. You deserve one as much as the rest of us. Come on, just pick any date. It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does, Dean," Cas says. "I have observed that certain dates can carry significant meaning with humans. If I'm going to do this, this is not something I can choose lightly."

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. "Well, whatever. Just pick one and lemme know what it is later, okay? I'm going to bed."

He pushes up out of his chair with a languid stretch ("Goodnight, Dean," rumbled quietly from across the table), ruffling Sam's hair into a frizzy mess as he goes by. To Sam's credit, he says nothing and only glares at Dean's retreating form. This fragile _goodness_ they've found here, family together and about as safe as they can get, Dean's real smiles and big laughs coming back to him slowly, is too important to Sam, means the entire world to Sam. He won't risk upsetting this delicate new happiness Dean has found. So, okay, maybe he's been a little indulgent of Dean lately, let him get away with a bit more.

Which Dean has taken gross advantage of, of course.

"Sam," Cas says once Dean is gone, looking down at his hands again. "How should I pick?"

Sam runs his fingers through his hair, smoothing it back into place. "You know you don't _have_ to do this, right?"

"Of course. But it seems very important to Dean, and it might be...nice. Like I might belong a little bit more."

"You _belong_ no matter what, Cas, okay? Nothing is ever going to change that. But if you do want to do this..." Sam leans over the table and drags one of Kevin's many spiral notebooks over, flipping to a page not yet covered in cryptic symbols and translations.

"So you want it to be a significant date, something meaningful?" He taps a pencil on the page and begins scribbling a list. "There's um, the day you fell and became human. Technically that was your 'birth' into humanity, right?"

Cas winces and Sam hurriedly scratches out the first line of his list.

"But uh, you probably want something a little more positive. You could do, say, a holiday? Or something like the summer solstice or spring equinox. Or we could pick a day something important happened in history.” He is silent for a moment, pencil scratching. “Anything standing out?”

Cas frowns and shakes his head.

“Well...you could always just go with Jimmy's birthday, right?"

Cas shrugs. "I don't know it. It isn't information I ever had any use for, and I don't have those memories to access anymore now that he's gone. And I would feel like I was taking what's not mine, anyway, I think."

"Sharing a body and brain indefinitely is okay, but sharing a birthday isn't?” Sam mumbles to himself. “I - okay. Well..." Sam sighs, pushing away from the table and leaning his chair back. "What's significant to _you_ , then, Cas?"

" _Cas_ ," he echoes. "I don't even think of myself as Castiel anymore, you know. I'm just Cas now, even to myself. When did that happen?"

Sam blinks. "Well, I guess the change from who you used to be to the Cas we know now, that was pretty gradual. But Dean gave you the name first, at least, right?”

"Yes. And meeting Dean was the catalyst for my rebellion and eventual fall, which led to where I am now. I suppose the day we met was something like a rebirth for both of us.” Cas nods decisively. “I would like that day to be my birthday.”

Sam is embarrassed to realize he doesn't actually remember what that date was specifically. You'd think the day your brother came back to life after you'd thought he'd been damned to Hell for all eternity would be one of those highlights of your life you mark on the calendar, right?

Cas would have known it easily if he still had a perfect angelic memory, of course - he remembers every second of his journey into Hell and the triumph of watching Dean emerge from the earth, freshly remade and boiling with new energy, beautiful and deadly - he could even tell you exactly how many freckles had spattered the skin over Dean's nose under the sparking lights of the barn that day, but not the _date_.

He goes to bed in defeat, irrationally resentful of Dean for bringing it up in the first place and bringing more of his newly human failures to light. How could he not know something so important?

 

"September 18th," Dean grumbles over his plate of eggs and bacon the next morning.

"Wow, Dean, that was quick," Sam blinks in surprise.

Dean shrugs and looks pointedly away. "Yeah, well." He bites off another piece of bacon.

"What about, um, year?" Sam says as Cas enters the kitchen, sleepily curled in on himself but beginning to thaw in the warm smells of breakfast and coffee.

"Fuck," Dean sighs. "The day's enough, right? We got a day to celebrate, problem solved."

"You never answered me," Cas says softly from behind Dean. "When is _your_ birthday?"

"Oh. Uh, it was about five months ago."

Castiel furrows his brow in disappointment. "But..."

"Look, I admit this is a new thing. Maybe we've never done birthdays much, but we've always had, y'know, too much else going on."

"I got stabbed in the spine on my birthday once," Sam offers helpfully. Cas' eyes widen just a little.

"But things are quieter now, and this is important to me, okay? So we're gonna try. For _all_ of us."

"And then Dean died on my next birthday," Sam continues, mostly to himself.

Cas begins to reconsider the merits of birthdays.

\- - -

The topic doesn't come back up in the few months following the discussion, and Cas may have assumed Dean had just forgotten.

In retrospect, he really should have known better.

"So, your birthday's next week," Dean says and grins widely, leaning over Cas' shoulder - and blocking his light, dammit.

"Oh. Yes, I suppose it is," Cas says. "I really need to work on this right now, though, if you wouldn't mind..."

"Nope. This is important business. What do you want for your birthday?"

"What?" Cas says, bewildered and growing cranky. He's _right_ on the edge of a breakthrough in his research here, he can feel it.

"People are supposed to get you presents, dude. Did you never read up on birthdays after that whole big talk we had?"

"I've had other things to 'read up on'," Cas waggles his fingers in sharp air quotes, glaring up at Dean. "And I honestly thought you'd forget the whole thing."

Dean actually looks _hurt_. "Gee, thanks for your faith in me, Cas. Sure means a lot. Not like I made it clear this was important or anything. That _you_ were important."

The anger floods out of Cas instantly. " _Dean_ ," he says in quiet surprise. He opens his mouth to apologize.

"No, you know what? Forget it. I'll figure something out myself. You just get back to whatever you're doing that apparently can't wait five minutes for you to talk to me."

Even after he's gone, Cas can no longer concentrate on the page he's reading. His head buzzes with equal parts irritation and guilt. He sighs and flops his head down onto his arms.

 

But later on Dean's cheerful planning mood is back, even if he won't quite look Cas in the eye.

Cas corners Dean on his way to bed that night. "I wanted to say thank you for planning my birthday, and to apologize. I realize now that I -"

Dean waves him off. "Dude, no. We're not doing the touchy-feely stuff right now, it is too late for this shit."

Cas tilts his head quizzically at Dean. "I haven't touched you at all," he says.

Dean's cheeks flush inexplicably and he shakes his head. "Nevermind. Good _night_ , Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean," Cas sighs softly.

\- - -

Sam _did_ forget. And maybe he feels even worse about it because Cas doesn't seem to care that he forgot.

“It's not _really_ my birthday,” Cas says soothingly. “It doesn't matter.”

Dean stands in the doorway behind them with a deep frown.

“Doesn't matter,” he growls, startling Cas. Of _course_ that would be the point in the conversation Dean would walk in on.

“I didn't mean...” Cas squeezes his eyes shut and tries again. “It doesn't matter that he forgot, Dean. I didn't mean the _birthday_ doesn't matter.”

“We know you're putting a lot of work into it,” Sam adds.

“Uh huh,” Dean grumbles. “Right. Well, I was coming to ask what kind of cake you'd want. But I guess that doesn't matter either.”

Cas presses his lips together tightly, not knowing how to respond without upsetting Dean further while admitting he has no idea what _any_ kind of cake tastes like, and that it _doesn't_ matter, but not for the reasons Dean is angry about.

Maybe - “what's your favorite kind, Dean?” he tries.

Dean's scowl deepens, if anything. Apparently he can't win this.

“Don't even talk to Dean about cake,” Sam laughs. “He's almost killed me more than once for bringing him cake.”

Cas' head is starting to hurt. “Then why are you asking me about cake?”

“Because your birthday is about you, Cas, not me. Birthdays are for birthday cake. Just because I like pie instead doesn't mean you don't get cake.”

“Oh,” Cas says. “But I haven't tried either cake _or_ pie yet. What if I don't like cake either?”

“Tell you what,” Sam says quickly before Dean can open his mouth again. “Dean can pick his favorite kind of pie to make you and I'll pick my favorite cake. We can have a little of both. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Cas nods firmly, giving Sam a grateful smile, then turns to face Dean again. “I would very much like to try your favorite pie, Dean.”

And now Dean's face is flushed red again and he's mumbling something inaudible, but he no longer looks angry and he's retreating, and while Cas would never usually be happy to see Dean leave he can feel the tension draining out of his muscles once his footsteps have faded away.

“Sam, I don't understand what's going on. Is this normal? Is he cursed? Should we be worrying?”

“I have no idea, honestly. But I think it's just Dean being...Dean. Don't worry about it too much.”

Of course, it wasn't _Sam's_ birthday Dean was currently obsessing over and yelling about. Sam didn't _have_ to worry about it.

\- - -

Kevin graciously only complains for a _few_ hours at being appointed in charge of decorating for Cas' birthday before getting on with the planning.

“Bet he doesn't even know when my birthday is,” he grumbles as he and Sam return from the store, struggling down the thin staircase with large paper bags – which Cas is firmly not allowed to see.

Sam just gives Kevin a pointed look, and he glances at Cas, shrugs and drops the subject.

“Whatever. I better at least get some cake out of this.”

“You're not getting anything if you don't get the stuff in here so we can make the damn food,” Dean calls from the kitchen. “And your birthday's December 2nd. Does _nobody_ here have any faith in me?”

Kevin blinks in surprise and gapes for a second before shifting the bags on his hips and hurrying to the kitchen. Cas can hear him mumbling about cake flavors as he passes by.

“When is your birthday?” Cas asks before Sam can follow.

“May 2nd,” Sam says with a small smile. “And no, Dean never forgets. We don't do much for each other, but he has to make sure I know _he_ knows, I guess. It's the principle of the thing for him.”

He collapses into the chair next to Cas and looks up thoughtfully at the ceiling. “He tried more when we were kids, you know? I don't know how, but he always managed to find something to give me. But I was always so disappointed Dad wasn't there, or Dad and I ended up fighting if he was, that I guess I never really appreciated the effort Dean went through for me. By the time I was old enough to see it, he'd mostly given up.”

Cas nods slowly, a picture building in his mind of a young Dean – he must have always had that same bright-eyed, cocky smirk, it was so essentially _Dean_ – carefully creeping through some toy store to pocket little gifts for Sam, charming his way out of getting caught, wrapping his prizes in old newspaper. Giving them to Sam before he could even get out of bed, filled with the same hopeful eagerness that bled out of him now as he hummed some vaguely familiar upbeat melody in the kitchen. Cas stops himself from imagining how that excitement must have been crushed every time when it wasn't good enough, would never be good enough.

Sam seems to be lost in his own head, too, his expression soft but a little sad. “That's how he shows love, you know. He won't say it out loud. He just takes care of you. That's all he knows how to do.”

“Sammy,” Dean barks from the doorway. “I'm not making the damn cake for you, get your ass in here and help.”

Sam shakes his head but smiles and stretches out of his chair.

“What do you need me to do, Dean?” Cas asks quietly.

“Uh, nothing? You don't help set up your own birthday, dude. You just...relax.”

“Oh,” Cas says. He shifts his weight awkwardly in his chair. “I suppose I could go work on my research.”

“No, no way. Maybe it's not your birthday yet but you deserve a break. _Nobody's_ working today.” Dean grins, his face covered in flour in a way that's somehow incredibly endearing. “Go take over Sam's room, watch some TV. Kevin can come help you put on a DVD or something. In fact, go get comfy and I'll send Kevin in with some popcorn for you in a minute. Sound good?”

 _That's how he shows love, you know,_ echoes in Cas' head.

“Yes, it does. Thank you, Dean.”

Dean does that thing he's been doing so often lately and turns bright pink for no apparent reason – which looks unexpectedly sweet contrasted against the soft white of the flour – and nods, disappearing again.

 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says later, shaking him awake. “I know this stuff is too boring to stay awake to, but Sam's gotta sleep in here now. Let's get you moved to your room.”

“S'not boring,” Cas grumbles.

“Don't even know how you manage to find so many documentaries on _bees_.”

Dean walks him to his room, letting Cas lean against him. It's mostly unnecessary, but Cas says nothing to dissuade him. _Takes care of you,_ he thinks fuzzily. _Always takes care of you._

They reach his room, and Cas looks back at Dean to say goodnight. Most of the flour has been wiped away, but there's a spot still dusted over his cheekbone, covering a patch of freckles. Cas is strangely offended by that. Before he really processes what he's doing, he finds his hand has drifted to Dean's face and he's softly stroking over the spot with his thumb.

Dean freezes, eyes wide, but he makes no move to push Cas away or stop his hand. He hardly seems to be breathing.

 _He's so beautiful when he blushes,_ Cas thinks sleepily. He opens his mouth to say so, but manages to swerve at the last second and what comes out is, “You missed a spot of flour.”

“Oh,” Dean swallows hard. “Thanks.”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Cas' hand has slipped off of Dean's face, but hasn't gone far. If he twitched his fingers just a little bit, he'd be stroking Dean's neck. He can feel the warmth of Dean's skin radiating through the air over his palm, can see his pulse fluttering in his throat.

Then a wave of exhaustion rolls over Cas, and he yawns so hard his knees go weak and his legs tremble. Dean laughs, in what sounds oddly like relief, and pushes open Cas' door. He shoves gently at his shoulder.

“Go lay down before you fall and hurt yourself.”

“That would probably make for a less pleasant first birthday,” Cas agrees. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas,” Dean says softly. “See you in the morning.”


	2. Execution

Cas' birthday begins somewhat less than auspiciously when he's woken by Kevin screaming. He throws himself out of bed and yanks the closest pair of pants on, bursts out into the hallway and runs towards the sound of Kevin's cursing.

He skids to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen, where Sam is holding Kevin's hand under the faucet.

“ _How_ do you burn yourself making scrambled eggs?” Dean mutters, his head in his hands.

“Is everyone all right?” Cas pants. The surge of adrenaline that got him this far is fading, leaving him dizzy and shaking and still a little sleepy. He just now notices he managed to get his pants on backwards.

Dean's head jolts up. “Cas! Dammit. Shit, this was supposed to be breakfast in bed.”

“I heard Kevin scream, I thought...”

“Sorry,” Kevin mutters.

Cas shakes his head, then yawns and shivers. It's cold in the kitchen, despite the heat the stovetop is pouring out, and he also didn't manage to get a shirt on. “As long as you're okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, m'fine.”

“Well, since you're already up you can just eat at the table with the rest of us, then,” Sam says. “But uh, you might want to finish getting dressed.” Sam smiles - at Dean instead of Cas, oddly enough.

Dean glares back at Sam and clears his throat. “Yeah, uh. You go put...put some clothes on. I'll set the table.”

Dean punches Sam in the shoulder as Cas turns to leave, and Sam's laughter echoes down the hallway after him. Cas is too groggy to bother trying to puzzle out what that was about.

 

When he returns, pants on the right way and shirt on, the table is overflowing with food. The scrambled eggs have apparently been saved, and they sit steaming alongside plates of sausages, bacon, pancakes and hash browns.

Cas stares. “This...is a lot of food, Dean.”

“What, you don't think you can eat a quarter of this by yourself?” Dean grins.

Cas' face falls. “No, Dean, I'm sorry. I'll do my best, but...”

“I'm kidding, dude. Couple more people wanted to come out and celebrate with us. They're coming over in a bit to help Kevin set things up while we're gone.” He guides Cas to a chair and starts layering food on his plate for him.

“While we're gone?”

Dean hums an affirmative. “You, me and Sammy are gonna go into town after we finish eating and do...well, whatever you wanna do, I guess, until they're done here.”

Sam grins and shakes his head. “Actually, Dean, I'm thinking I should stay here. My present for Cas is going to take a little...setting up, too.”

“What?” Dean swings his head to stare at Sam. “Why didn't you tell me that before? Now what're we gonna -”

Sam waves him off. “Oh, you and Cas can go ahead without me, it'll be fine. Besides, Cas and I spend all this time researching together, you two never get to hang out without me anymore.”

Dean opens his mouth to speak, huffs and closes it again. “ _Sam_ -” he starts.

“Dean, I think I have enough eggs.”

Dean looks down to where he's been absently scooping scrambled eggs onto Cas' plate and finds he's basically covered it, along with a decent portion of the surrounding table. Bits are crumbling off onto Cas' lap and down to the floor.

“For fuck's sake,” Dean mumbles.

 

Sam comes outside to see them off when they go.

“Now remember, Cas, it's _your_ birthday. Dean has to listen to you today and do what _you_ want to do. Don't let him push you around, okay?”

Cas nods solemnly. “I won't.”

“Are you coming or not?” Dean yells from the car.

“Don't push me around,” Cas yells back. He turns back to Sam, Dean gaping at him silently through the rolled-down window. “Was that right?”

Sam is grinning widely and biting his lip like he's trying not to laugh. “Yes, Cas, that was perfect. That was absolutely perfect.”

Another car is coming up the hill, and Sam claps Cas on the shoulder. “Seriously though, go get in the car and have a good day.”

Cas nods and climbs into the Impala. Dean grumbles something under his breath and starts her up as the other car pulls up and a short, red-haired woman gets out, leaping into Sam's arms for a hug.

“Who's that?” Cas asks, peering backwards as Dean turns the car around.

“Charlie,” Dean says. “We've told you about her, right? You'll meet her when you get back. You'll like her. You can't _not_ like Charlie.”

“Ah,” Cas says faintly and looks back at him. Dean's smiling fondly, his eyes crinkled at the corners. Cas' stomach feels suddenly heavy, and he begins to wonder if he ate too much at breakfast after all.

“She's very pretty,” Cas says.

“Huh? Oh, uh, I guess so. I don't know, I don't really look at her like that. She's like a little sister, you know?” Dean glances over at him. “And anyway,” he continues more gruffly, “she's not into guys. So if you were thinking about making a pass on her...”

“Oh, no, that's not what I meant at all,” Cas says. The food seems to have settled in his stomach again. He feels much lighter. “I'll be glad to meet someone else important enough to be considered part of your family.”

Dean chuckles darkly. “Yep, _'Dean's family'_. Pretty exclusive club, huh? Kind of a high mortality rate, but hey.”

“It's worth it,” Cas says before he can think better of it.

Dean's cheeks flare red and he stares hard at the road. Silence fills the car for a few minutes.

“Well, uh. Start thinking about what you want to do when we get into town, okay? Lots of places we could go,” Dean says eventually.

Cas nods and turns away, watching out the window thoughtfully as wheat fields shimmer by. He's never really spent much time in the city – the bunker is fairly far away, and they generally only visit for supply runs. He has only a vague idea of what there is to do, but he's sure he'll think of something on the way.

\- - -

About an hour later Dean is shaking him awake. “Hey, sleeping beauty, we're here.”

“Nngh – already?” Cas mumbles.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, time goes by pretty fast when you're _asleep_.”

“I'm sorry, Dean, I didn't mean to. The car is just...relaxing.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, I guess she is. Well, did you think of anything you want to do before you passed out?”

Cas shakes his head and quickly sifts through what little he knows about the city. “Isn't there a museum here?”

“Uh, yeah, but it's a _children's_ museum.”

“What's the difference?”

“Well, it's for kids, for one thing.”

“You watch cartoons meant for children every weekend,” Cas points out.

“That's different,” Dean grumbles.

“I don't see how,” Cas says. Irritation bubbles up in his chest – wasn't today supposed to be about _him_? Wasn't he not supposed to let Dean push him around? “I would like to go to the museum, Dean. You told me we were going to do what _I_ wanted to do today.”

“Fuckin' fine,” Dean growls, turning sharply down a side street to turn the car around.

Cas almost apologizes. He doesn't want to fight with Dean, but he forces himself to think about what Sam said and keeps his lips pressed tightly together.

They pull into the parking lot of the museum, Dean braking a little harder than necessary. 

“If it bothers you so much, you can just stay out here,” Cas bites out more harshly than he intended.

“Like hell I'm letting you go in a museum full of kids by yourself.”

Cas turns his head sharply to glare at Dean. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I _mean_ ,” Dean says as he climbs out of the car and slams the door. “That you're awkward enough with _adults_ as it is, and I don't want someone calling the police on you because they think you're some pedophile creeper or something.”

Cas is right on the edge of giving up and telling Dean to just take him home. Before he can say anything at all, Dean has marched towards the building, leaving Cas to jog to catch up to him.

The lady at the entrance is all wide smiles, her eyes searching the ground around and behind them for the child she must assume is with them.

“How many?” She asks brightly.

“Two adults,” Dean grumbles. Her smile falters slightly.

“We're, uh, meeting some family that's already here,” Dean continues with a charming grin. She lets them through after Dean pays, though her eyes linger on Cas' trenchcoat as they pass.

“Could have at least left that thing in the car. You look like a flasher.”

“I don't even know what that is,” Cas huffs, shoving past Dean and marching out into the museum, not caring whether Dean is following.

As he gazes around the exhibits, his mood grows lighter. Everywhere there are children laughing, playing at making pizza and buying groceries, holding plastic stethoscopes to each other's chests with grave expressions. This is one of those sorts of places that reminds him so poignantly how wonderful humanity can really be, how precious their lives are.

He comes to a stop in front of a small stage, tiny chairs spread out before it, a basket full of soft puppets nearby.

A small hand tugs on his coat. “Are you going to play here?” A small girl asks, peering up at him.

“Oh, no,” Cas says. “I'm not very good at telling stories.”

She nods sympathetically. “Well, I am. Sit down, okay?”

Cas looks uncertainly at the chairs. He's not entirely sure he wouldn't break one if he tried to put his weight on it. Instead, he pushes some of them aside and sits on the floor, clasping his hands in his lap politely. She seems satisfied.

“I'm Rosa,” she says.

“My name is Cas,” he says. “It's very nice to meet you.”

She raises her eyebrows, obviously unimpressed by his formality. “Okay, well, you sit there and listen. Don't talk.”

“I won't make a sound,” he promises.

Dean makes a sort of strangled noise from somewhere behind him. Cas turns his head briefly and spots him next to the wall, staring at Cas in exasperation.

Cas has absolutely no idea what Dean could possibly be objecting to this time, and he is finding it harder and harder to care.

 

Rosa is, in fact, a fairly good storyteller for a six-year-old, and he claps politely when she's done.

A woman walks over to the stage, looking distractedly at her phone. “Rosa, are you ready to go? Your brother needs to get home for a nap. Oh -” she says, spotting Cas as he pushes himself to his feet.

“This is Cas,” Rosa says. “He's my test audience.”

The woman looks him up and down apprehensively. “Uh, hello, Cas.”

“Hello,” he nods. “Your daughter is very creative.”

“Yes, she is,” the woman says, taking Rosa's hand and pulling her close to her side. “Do you have any children, uh...Mr. Cas?”

“Oh, no. I'm...here with family.” He supposes that's true enough. She does not look entirely convinced, her hand tightening on her phone.

And then Dean is at his side, tugging on his arm. “Cas, come on, leave them alone,” he mumbles.

“Thanks for watching my play, Cas,” Rosa says. Cas smiles back at her as Dean pulls him away.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

“Cas, that lady was _five seconds_ from calling the cops on you. Don't you get it? Middle-aged man alone in a children's museum, in a trenchcoat, hanging out with little girls?”

“No, I _don't_ get it. Children are very pleasant company. More pleasing than many adults.”

“Don't... _ever_ say that in public again, okay? Come on, can we go somewhere else now?”

“No,” Cas huffs. “I saw an animal exhibit and I want to go look at them.”

“Cas, _please_. I'll take you to a pet store, or an animal shelter, or _something_ , just please can we get out of here?”

Cas' face falls in defeat. He takes one last look around the museum – at the laughing, smiling children and the happy parents watching them with love written so plainly on their faces – and shrugs Dean's arm off of his. He makes his way through the crowd and back out to the car.

“I'm sorry,” Dean says as he catches up. “I just – I know you don't get it, but this stuff is important, okay? People don't know you have good intentions. I'm sorry.”

“You said you'd take me to see animals. I want to go see animals.”

Dean sighs and rubs at his temples. “Yeah, okay.”

 

The pet store is not as happy as the museum was. He had imagined it would be – how could a place full of animals not be a place of joy? But the animals are stuffed into too-small cages, some of them in environments entirely unsuited to them, and most of them have little to no water or food. Dean steers him forcibly away from every employee they come across before Cas can storm up to one and start yelling – or possibly attempt to smite one, mojo or not.

“Dean, this is reprehensible,” Cas growls. “These animals are miserable.”

“Yeah, well, this is pretty much how pet stores are. It's just kind of how they work.”

“Then why would you take me to a place like this? I didn't want to see animals being _tortured_.”

“ _You_ said you wanted to...fuck, here, do you want to hold one of the puppies? You stay here – _don't_ move – and I'll go find someone and you can hold one, okay?”

“Fine,” Cas snaps.

Dean comes back with a woman in a bright blue vest a moment later.

“He wants to -”

“I'd like to hold a kitten, please,” Cas says.

“Cas, I'm allergic to cats,” Dean protests.

“You're not the one holding it,” Cas says as he takes the little white kitten from the woman's hands, tucking it into his arms securely.

“You're gonna get cat hair on yourself, and it's gonna get in my car, and I'm gonna be sneezing for weeks!”

Cas ignores him, stroking the cat from nose to tail. It purrs enthusiastically and kneads its tiny claws into the sleeve of his coat.

“We're actually doing a special event this week to promote adopting rescue cats and dogs,” the woman says. “These animals are here on behalf of the shelter. The adoption fee is half off, and we're throwing in some toys and essentials for free. She seems to really like you already.” 

“I like her too,” Cas smiles.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Dean groans. “Allergic. Allergic means _no cats_.”

“Oh, are you two together?” she asks.

“Yes,” Cas answers, and Dean chokes on air behind him.

“Well, there's always allergy medicine, you know.”

“Our, uh...living arrangements aren't really great for a cat, anyway,” Dean says. “But thanks anyway.”

“Oh,” she says sympathetically. “Small apartment?”

“No,” Cas says. “Our home is quite spacious.”

“Maybe a little _too_ spacious, Cas. You know, spacious enough a tiny kitten could get lost? Maybe get itself hurt? Maybe not the best place for a kitten to _explore_ and _get into things_?”

“Tell you what, I'll throw in a book on training your cat so that doesn't even become a problem!” The woman interjects brightly.

“Cas. No,” Dean says, ignoring her.

“Fine,” Cas snaps. He looks sadly down at the cat, who's gazing up at him in rapt adoration. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he sighs, nuzzling under her chin with a gentle finger.

Dean groans. “Cas, don't act like I'm breaking your heart. It's just a cat.”

“Her eyes are blue,” Cas says softly.

“What?” Dean peers over his shoulder into the cat's face, keeping a careful distance. The kitten blinks up at him, tilts her head and squeaks inquisitively.

Dean's face crumples like he's in pain. “Fuck,” he sighs, then shakes himself. “No. Cas, _no_. You can barely take care of yourself, how're you gonna take care of a cat?”

The woman is staring at Dean with wide eyes. Dean clears his throat and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“I'm...gonna go wait in the car. You say goodbye,” Dean grumbles.

“Wow,” the lady says once he's gone, taking the kitten and tucking it gently back into its cage. “Bad day?”

The kitten mewls desperately, thrusting a tiny paw between the bars and clawing at empty air. His heart feels like it's crumbling into pieces.

“It's my birthday,” he says sadly. “So yes, apparently.”

“Oh, honey,” she says and pats his arm.

 

“I want to go home,” Cas says as he gets in the Impala, slamming the door.

“We can't yet, they haven't texted to let me know they're done setting up.”

“I don't care. I want to go _home_.”

“Hey, you've never been to a movie theater,” Dean says with obviously forced cheer. “How about we go find a movie to watch? I'll buy you some popcorn.”

“There is popcorn at home. There are also _movies_ at home.”

“It's different, Cas, okay? It's...think of it as a human rite of passage. C'mon, it'll be fun. No sad animals. No paranoid parents. Just movies and popcorn and candy.”

Cas eventually concedes and lets Dean take him to the theater. They stand outside reading the movie posters.

“I'd like to see that one,” Cas points.

“Aw, c'mon, Cas, that's a total chick flick.”

“That's the one I want to see,” Cas says firmly. “It looks nice. And I do not understand what a 'chick flick' is.”

“It's for _women_ , Cas.”

“Why?”

“Why _what_?”

“Why is it only for women? And why does something being for women mean it's bad?”

Dean covers his face with his hands. “No, you're not playing psychologist on me. Can we please just pick something else?”

“Fine,” Cas says. “You pick something else.”

“ _Thank_ you.”

“And I'll see this one by myself.”

“What? _Cas_ ,” Dean protests.

“I'm seeing this movie.”

Dean curses under his breath the whole way, but buys them both tickets to Cas' movie. He does buy Cas a large bag of popcorn, but it's greasier than the popcorn at home that Dean makes on the stove, and it's slightly burnt. He finds he can't eat more than a few pieces. And he _really_ likes popcorn.

Cas would probably have enjoyed the movie were it not for Dean grumbling sarcastic commentary the entire time. Though he was strangely quiet at the climax of the movie – when Cas glanced over at him, wondering if he'd possibly fallen asleep, his eyes were wet and he was wiping at them with his sleeve.

“It's the fucking cat hair,” he'd hissed.

 

“Can we go home now?” Cas says tiredly as they exit the theater. Dean pulls his phone out to check it.

“Yeah, they texted about ten minutes ago. We can go.”

“Good,” Cas says, tossing the more or less untouched popcorn in the trash. “I think I've had about enough _fun_ for one day.”

Dean looks away guiltily. Cas lets himself into the car before Dean has a chance to respond.

“Cas,” Dean says gently when he gets in. “Hey, c'mon, look at me.”

Cas curls up with his head against the window and closes his eyes. He has no desire to spend the drive home awake, whether fighting with Dean or in tense silence.

Dean sighs and starts the car.


	3. Reaction

There's another car in the driveway when they return. Cas doesn't recognize it, but he doesn't have the energy to ask Dean whose it is. He supposes he'll find out soon enough anyway.

When they get inside, the entire main room is covered in balloons and streamers in white and various shades of blue. The red-headed girl – Charlie – runs to greet them and Dean catches her in a tight hug. To his surprise, she then turns and throws her arms around Cas.

“It is _so_ good to finally meet you! I've heard so much about you from Dean,” she says with a wink. Dean seems to be pretending not to hear her, but his cheeks darken just a little.

Dean clears his throat. “So...Sam can introduce you, I gotta get in the kitchen. I was gonna make burgers for dinner. That sound good?”

“That's fine,” Cas says tersely.

“Are you sure? I mean, I was gonna make those since they're your favorite, but if you feel like something else, I mean, _anything_ else we have the stuff for, or I can go back out for something else if you want -”

“Dean. It's fine.” Cas finally looks at Dean, finding his eyes heavy with guilt and his shoulders drooping. Cas relents and gives him a small smile. “That sounds good,” he says quietly.

Even though he can probably tell Cas is forcing it, Dean relaxes a little.

“Hey, Cas!” Sam says with a wide grin as Dean passes him on his way to the kitchen. “How'd your day go?”

“It was...interesting.”

Sam's smile fades. “Interesting?”

However irritated Cas is with Dean, though, he can't rant about the day here in front of what's most likely everyone left in the world who's important to Dean. He couldn't do that to him.

“Dean said you could introduce me?” he says instead.

“Yeah, of course,” Sam says, leading him further into the room. “This is Garth,” he says, nodding to a lanky brown-haired man with an easy grin and warm eyes. “And you've already been attacked by Charlie.”

Sam explains briefly how they know each of them, Cas warming up to Garth considerably upon finding out he was connected to the Winchesters through Bobby.

“Bobby was a good man,” Cas says with a grave nod. Garth's face softens, but he doesn't lose his warm smile.

“I know he would've been happy to be here for you today,” Garth says. “But I bet he's lookin' down on us right now anyway.”

Cas opens his mouth to correct him – that's not how heaven works, not at all – but Sam squeezes his shoulder gently and raises his eyebrows. Cas has come a long way in his understanding of human nonverbal communication, and decides this means Garth is probably happier with his illusions and Cas should really keep his mouth shut.

Charlie's involvement in the hunting life is, in a large way, Cas' fault, he feels. He was the one who unleashed Leviathan into the world, after all. But she doesn't seem to have suffered much for it – she's bubbly and cheerful and, as Dean said, impossible not to like.

She also seems to have a gift for understanding people, and has noticed that Cas would prefer to be quiet right now. She's engaged in conversation with Kevin instead about some game they've both played – some card game, though when Cas asks if it's much like poker, they laugh at him affectionately. Sam asks questions occasionally, but mostly he just sits shoulder-to-shoulder with Cas. He keeps glancing at him worriedly.

When Charlie and Kevin have Garth bent over with laughter at some story, Sam leans in.

“Did something happen?” He whispers.

“We...did not communicate well,” Cas replies diplomatically.

“Is that a polite way of saying Dean was an asshole all day?”

Cas is silent, and Sam sighs and frowns softly. “I'm sorry, Cas. I thought if you guys spent some time alone together, maybe...”

Before Cas has a chance to ask maybe _what_ , Dean is bringing plates out. He looks a little happier, but cooking for his family always seems to fulfill some unspoken need in him. He sets out plates of sliced tomatoes, onions, pickles and the like for them all to add to their burgers, but he has Cas' already made up for him exactly the way he likes it.

“Don't get too full,” Dean says, setting the plate down in front of Cas. “Still got cake _and_ pie after this.” His smile fades again when he notices Sam glaring at him.

Cas shoves at Sam slightly with his shoulder, but Sam ignores him. Apparently he's going to be offended for Cas' sake whether he likes it or not.

Cas gives up with a huff. He'll figure out how to fix this _after_ he eats.

He intends to exaggerate his enjoyment a little for Dean's sake, but finds he doesn't have to. He groans his appreciation around his first bite.

“Damn straight,” Charlie mumbles around a mouthful. She swallows and grins. “Dean, you're gonna make someone a fine housewife someday.”

“Yeah, yeah, it's not my fault I look damn good in an apron.”

Watching Dean and Charlie pick on each other through the rest of dinner is actually nice. He can see now clearly what Dean had meant when he said she was like a sister. Dean and Sam both tease her lovingly, and she dishes it back out expertly. Garth seems too easygoing to feel left out, and slips in and out of the conversation where he finds openings, grinning and listening amicably otherwise.

“So what'd you do today?” Kevin asks, startling Cas. They've reached a sort of quiet understanding by this point, and they research well together when put in the same room, but they don't generally _talk_ directly to each other.

“I...saw a movie,” Cas says hesitantly. “And we looked at some animals at the pet store.”

“Is that all? You guys were out for a _long_ time.”

He looks oddly expectant, as though he knows something Cas doesn't.

Sam tugs on Kevin's arm before Cas has to answer. “Come on, everyone's finished, let's get the cake.”

Kevin peers at Cas assessingly for another long second before getting up with a shrug.

 

This feels momentous, somehow, sitting at the head of the table with a plate of apple pie and ice cream to his right and a thick slice of chocolate fudge cake to his left. Sam sits next to him, grinning eagerly, but Dean is leaning against the wall and watching almost impassively. Cas steels himself and moves for the cake first.

It's – it's delicious, almost overpoweringly so. The frosting is rich and dense, tingling with sweetness over his tongue and down his throat. It's _good_ , and he smiles at Sam, but privately he's not certain he could finish more than a few bites.

He takes a long drink of water at Charlie's insistence to “clear his palate” for a fair judgment of the pie. While Kevin and Garth are rooting for Sam – because _birthdays_ are for _birthday cake_ – Charlie is confidently in Dean's corner. For his part, Cas isn't sure when this became a competition.

With a deep breath, he takes his first bite of pie. His immediate impression is of butter as the light, flaky crust hits his tongue. The flavor of green apples bursts into his mouth next as he chews, a blend of spice and sugar supporting it but not overshadowing it. It's just sweet enough, just tart enough, and the savory crust rounds it out nicely.

When he opens his eyes, even Charlie is blushing.

“Jesus, I didn't know angels could even _make_ those kinds of sounds,” she says. “There's gotta be rules against that.”

“I'm sorry,” Cas says, ducking his head. “I may have gotten a bit carried away.”

“I think we have a pretty clear winner, anyway,” she says with a grin. “I _knew_ it.”

Sam smiles good-naturedly and flicks a chunk of frosting at her. “You just side with Dean all the time because he's your handmaiden.”

“Pfft, no way,” she says. “It was a sure thing.”

“They're both very good,” Cas insists. “The cake is just...overwhelming. I'm sorry, Sam.”

Sam shakes his head. “No way, don't be. I'm glad you liked the pie. More cake for us anyway, right?”

Cas finally looks up at Dean, who is watching him with a small smile.

Cas can't even remember why he was angry at this point, with the taste of the pie Dean must have put so much effort into lingering on his tongue. Dean hiding away in the corner as if he doesn't belong with them anymore suddenly hurts. “Dean, aren't you going to sit with us and have a piece?”

“I uh, I should go clean up in the kitchen, actually. But I'm glad you like it.”

“It's his birthday, dude, come sit with your best friend and have some pie,” Charlie says with a withering glare. She actually _growls_ when he opens his mouth to protest, and finally Dean surrenders and cuts himself a slice, sliding into the chair next to Cas.

Cas _definitely_ likes Charlie.

 

“Okay, so...my present isn't going to be really usable until spring, but I think it'll be worth the wait.” Sam hands Cas a bundle loosely wrapped in brown paper and sinks back into his chair.

When Cas rips it open he finds – gloves? Long, thick gloves, and a hat rimmed by...netting? And –

“Sam, you didn't,” Cas whispers.

Sam grins widely, knees bouncing in excitement. “The hive is all set up outside around back. Once spring comes we can order your bees, and they'll have plenty of time to collect the honey to make it through next winter. It's too late for this year.”

“My own bees. My own honey,” Cas breathes. He can't stop smiling. “Thank you, Sam, this...this makes me very happy.”

Sam reaches over and squeezes his shoulder fondly before Charlie swoops in.

“Okay, so, I'm going completely off what I know about you from Dean, so if mine sucks you can blame him,” Charlie says with a wink, handing him a package wrapped in shiny silver paper.

“Does that mean he also gets the credit if I do like it?”

“And here they said you don't joke,” she says, punching him lightly in the arm. “Come on, open it already.”

Under the thin paper are two thick, yellow cases – each proclaiming _National Geographic_ in bold print.

“He said you watch a lot of documentaries and you love animals, right? So this one's a bunch of animal documentaries, and this one's just a bunch of other documentaries, like about places and people and history, 'cause I know you're still learning about things from a human perspective, even though some of these you probably already _know_ all about because you were _alive_ back when the stuff was happening, but...”

“Charlie, it's wonderful,” Cas says, and he means it, hugging the boxes to his chest. “Thank you.”

She squeals and gives him a tight squeeze around his shoulders.

“And,” she says, “Garth and Kevin's gift is the followup to mine.”

Garth grins. “I'm pretty terrible at picking gifts for people I _do_ know, so Kevin helped me pick out a TV and DVD player and we put 'em up on your wall while you were gone.”

“So you can watch your new shows in your own bed without having to worry about Sam kicking you out of his room,” Charlie adds excitedly.

Cas smiles until his cheeks hurt. “Thank you, all of you. I can't...I don't even know how to say...”

“It's okay, Cas,” Sam smiles. “We get it. And you're welcome.”

There's a moment's pause while Cas is quietly beaming down at his armful of DVDs and beekeeper's gear. 

When he looks back up, everyone is looking expectantly at Dean. “I, uh,” he says, glancing away.

“You did _not_ forget to get him a gift,” Charlie snaps. Even Kevin looks pissed on Cas' behalf.

“Of course I didn't fucking forget, I just...kind of don't want to give it to him in front of everyone,” Dean mutters.

Charlie's eyes narrow suspiciously. “That's fine,” Cas cuts in. “I'm getting tired anyway.”

As if he's said the magic words, everyone else seems to realize how late it is and how tired they are at the same time. After more hugs and a round of _goodnight_ s, Sam leads Charlie and Garth to the rooms they have set up – and who ever would have thought the Winchesters would live somewhere with guest rooms to offer? - and Kevin wishes him one last happy birthday and slips off to his own room.

Cas and Dean stand alone in silence for a moment. And then without a word they're walking towards Cas' room side by side, around the corner and down a stretch of hallway from Dean's.

Cas deposits his gifts on the table inside his door and turns around. Dean stands waiting behind him. Is Cas supposed to be getting his gift now? Did Dean mean to give it to him later? Is he waiting for Cas to say goodnight?

“Cas, I'm so sorry,” Dean finally sighs. “For just...everything.”

Cas' face softens. “Dean, you don't have to do this. You already apologized.”

“No, I really fucked up, man. You can't pretend anything I did today was okay.”

“I don't know,” Cas smiles softly. “The burgers and pie were very good.”

“That's not what I mean and you know it. Don't try to let me off the hook here.”

“I had a good birthday, Dean. I really did,” Cas insists. Dean won't meet his eyes.

“Yeah, no thanks to me.”

“ _Dean_. Maybe things didn't go as you expected, but it means very much to me that you went to so much trouble.”

“I just wanted...I wanted to make today great for you, y'know? And I almost ruined that completely.”

“But it was fine in the end. I don't understand why this is still upsetting you so much.”

“Because – fuck, Cas, I wanted you to have a good day, of course I did, but I wanted to be part of _why_ it was good, and I fucked that up. I did everything wrong. I didn't listen to you at all and I treated you like shit. I've been planning this for _months_ and I managed to mess it up anyway. I shoulda just...let Sam and Kevin handle it and stayed out of the way.”

Cas' heart aches, seeing the lost, forlorn look on Dean's face. He thinks he'd do just about anything to make it go away.

“I wanted to show you I care about you, 'cause I'm never any good at that,” Dean continues in a low rumble, staring at the floor, rushing the words out as though they'll burn his lips if they linger there too long. “There's so much shit I don't know how to say.” He hesitates. “Especially to you.”

Something clicks in Cas' head, as though a door has opened that he'd kept forced shut for a long time.

“Dean.”

“I'm sorry, Cas.”

“ _Dean_. Look at me.”

Dean winces, but looks up. Cas steps closer, studying Dean's face as he has so many times, but somehow something is different. Something scary and intense and _important_ is bubbling up inside him, and he's not sure he can contain it. Dean's eyes are wide, his pupils large and dark in the dim light. His mouth is slightly open, his lower lip red where he's been biting it in his frustration.

Cas believes - wants with all his heart to believe – that the look on Dean's face right now is _hope_.

Drawn like a magnet, both unable and unwilling to stop himself anymore, Cas steps forward and presses his lips against Dean's.

 _Finally_ , something in him sighs. Dean's lips are soft and pliant against his, and he smells so deliciously _Dean_ up close like this. He twists his hands into the front of Dean's shirt and tugs him insistently closer.

But a few long seconds later, Dean is still frozen and tense, lips slack and unmoving. When Cas opens his eyes, his face is blank and stunned.

Cas pulls back, his throat suddenly tight, and stares down at his hands. He realizes for the first time how harshly cold the hallway is as he steps away, out of the radius of Dean's warmth.

“ _Ah_ ,” he says quietly. “I think I've...horribly misread things. Please, forgive me. We can...pretend I never did that.”

Some dream he never realized he was holding onto is dying. As though as long as neither of them mentioned it, as long as neither of them pointed out whatever it was between them and forced it into the light, there was always that quiet, unspoken sense of _possibility_. There were still all the _maybe_ s he'd silently collected over the years. And with one stupid impulse he'd torn it all down, and he would never get it back again.

He can't look back up at Dean's face. What could he possibly see there – anger? Pity? Disgust? He can't handle any of them, can't without breaking down, and he's already made enough of a fool of himself tonight _without_ crying in front of the man who has just effortlessly rejected him without a word, who won't even acknowledge what Cas has done, who has still made no move to stop him. Cas would rather he yelled – would rather he punched him, shoved him angrily against the wall and told him plainly that he didn't want him. Anything but this awful dead silence.

Dean says nothing as Cas stumbles backwards into his room.

Cas swallows hard around the lump in his throat and whispers, “Goodnight, Dean. I'm...I'm so sorry.”

He shuts the door.


	4. Resolution

Cas slumps down on the bed and buries his face in his arms, curling in on himself. He regrets it instantly when he realizes Dean's scent is still clinging to his shirt. 

He never wants to have another birthday. No matter how much they press and coax him, he will never have anything to do with birthdays ever again. It can never be a day to celebrate _him_ again – it will always be the day he managed to break his own heart, and possibly ruined the greatest friendship he would ever have. 

Not that he expects Dean will push very hard for this to happen again either, of course. Neither of them will be likely to want to relive these memories. He'll be surprised if Dean doesn't pretend the entire day never happened. 

Oh, God, what if he asks him to leave? What if Dean is so angry, so disgusted with what he did, that he can't live around him anymore? 

What has he _done?_  

Loud pounding on the door shakes him out of his thoughts. He's surprised to find his face and arms are soaked with tears. 

“ _Cas,_ ” Dean's voice comes through the door. “ _C'mon, let me in. Please._ ” 

“I already said I'm sorry. Just...please, go away. Forget it ever happened. I'll never do it again,” Cas calls back, his voice rough and strained. 

“ _Don't make me kick the damn door open, Cas.”_ Dean lets a long moment of silence go by before he tries again. _“Please, Cas.”_  

 _Fine_. Might as well get it over with anyway. He stands shakily and pads to the door, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. What does he care about his dignity anymore? 

The instant he's unlocked it Dean pushes inside, shutting the door behind himself and pulling Cas close against him.

 “Dean, what -” 

“I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I just froze up, I couldn't think, I didn't think you'd ever...that _we'd_ ever...” 

“Dean, slow down. What are you trying to say?” 

“I'm saying...fuck, _Cas_.” 

Dean wraps his arms around Cas' waist, holding him tightly, and suddenly their mouths are pressing together and Cas stiffens in shock. Tendrils of warmth bloom in his stomach and spread through him, leaving his fingers tingling and head spinning before he can even process what's happening. Dean presses dozens of desperate little kisses to his lips, Cas still dazed and unresponsive in his arms. 

When Cas' brain finally catches up, it's like an explosion. He throws his arms around Dean's neck, his mouth finally sliding into place as though his lips were made for nothing but kissing Dean all along. Dean lets out a soft sigh of satisfaction. 

And Cas hates himself for it, but he can't help but push him away. “Dean, wait. What is this?” 

“What is – you kissed me first!” 

“Yes, but I know why I kissed you. I need to know why you're kissing _me.”_  

“What? Well, fine, why are _you_ kissing _me_ then?” 

And Cas realizes, of course, that he hasn't actually put it into words even in his own head, because he _just_ allowed himself to acknowledge it was even there, but it's such a simple answer that the truth is finally effortless. 

“I'm in love with you.” 

“And you don't think that maybe that's why I'm kissing you too?” 

“Is it? I can't do this if it's just...” 

“Cas, you can be a complete idiot sometimes. Of course I...of course it is.” 

Cas can't ignore the obvious hesitation. “Say it, Dean, please.” 

“God. Only you would make me pass some kind of test kiss you.” 

“Telling me you love me is a _test_?” 

“That's not what I meant. I just never say that kind of stuff. Not to anyone,” Dean says pleadingly, reaching out for him again. And Cas wants to let him, wants to let Dean fold him back into his arms, but he has to hear this. He's so tired of misunderstandings and half-truths. He takes a step back. 

Dean shuts his eyes and buries his face in his hands. “Of course I love you, Cas,” he says brokenly. “And I've beat myself up about it for so _long,_ and I was never gonna do anything about it and put you on the spot, didn't want to make things awkward when you had to turn me down, but then you kissed me, and I thought...” 

That's more than enough to satisfy him. Cas slams Dean back against the door and kisses him with renewed energy, pressing probably too hard in his fervor and impatience, but Dean certainly doesn't seem to care. Dean's fingers tremble their way under Cas' shirt and stroke up the skin of his back. Cas gasps, the touch sending exquisite bolts of lightning dancing up his spine. Dean takes Cas' open mouth as an opportunity to slip his tongue out over Cas' lips, just barely, a gentle offering. 

Cas groans his approval. He slides his tongue eagerly back against Dean's, savoring the sweet, slightly metallic taste of his mouth. Nothing has ever tasted so perfect, as angel or human. He's certain in this moment that he could live out the rest of his life on Dean's kisses alone and never want for food again. 

 _His mouth is sweetness in itself; he is altogether lovely,_ floats disjointedly through Cas' mind. 

Dean shudders when Cas rakes his fingers over his scalp. Dean's hair is so delightfully soft, Cas' hands tingling with pleasure as he strokes through it. His entire body seems to pulse with satisfaction at finally getting his hands on Dean. So many times he's wondered guiltily how different it would be now, how different Dean's skin would feel without being overpowered by the electric buzz of Dean's soul just under the surface. And oh, Cas misses that too, misses being able to tilt his head just _so_ and see that familiar radiance. Not stepping into his thoughts, as he promised he wouldn't, but watching the play of his emotions on the surface, watching Dean's colors twirl and blend, brighten and darken. He aches for it, sometimes. Didn't realize how much of a comfort it was to him until it was taken from him. 

But _this._ He can live with missing all of that if it means he gets to keep this. Dean's hands are rough from years of handling guns, digging graves, the slow burn of cheap hotel soaps, but so gentle smoothing over his skin. The skin over Dean's stomach is softer than he could have imagined. Cas skates his fingers down over the bones of his hips, desperate to relearn every angle of his body. And if Cas slips, maybe, and forgets to be quite as gentle with Dean as he's being with Cas, he doesn't seem to mind. Cas knows he's pressing his fingertips in bruisingly hard, but he can't seem to relax them, not when he's finally got Dean there for the taking. And Dean only groans louder into his mouth when he squeezes and tugs him closer. 

Yet Dean cards his fingers through Cas' hair so softly, slowly, as though Cas were a work of art in some museum and he could hardly believe he was allowed to touch. His caress feels like worship, his kisses silent prayers. He trembles so sweetly under Cas' lips. 

And then Dean _bites._ Just a small nip to his lower lip, the tiniest press of teeth, like he can't help himself. 

It ignites something new in Cas, something raw and hungry, and before he can stop to think he's sucking and biting his way down Dean's throat, his teeth vibrating with Dean's groans. 

Dean's hands slip down to Cas' hips, which he now realizes he's been rolling mindlessly against Dean's thigh. Dean shifts him over just slightly and - 

“ _Oh,”_ Cas gasps. He thrusts hard against Dean, relishing the feeling of their cocks pressed together, straining towards each other through layers of clothes. And clothes seem like a terrible idea to him now, the stupidest of human inventions. He begins to tug at Dean's jeans. 

Dean takes the hint eagerly and undresses them both as quickly as he can without pulling too far away from Cas. Cas growls at having to remove his mouth from Dean's neck for even the second it takes to pull his shirt over his head. He surveys the mark he's left behind with satisfaction – he's silently, privately mourned the loss of his mark on Dean's shoulder, wished he hadn't healed it when he thought he'd be losing him forever. Had once thought wildly of asking Dean if he could put it back. But that seems so far away now, and after all, that had been the mark of an angel. That was _Castiel's_ mark. 

 _Cas_ can mark him now in his own, very human way. He chooses another spot and dives in again, sucking hard and sinking his teeth in. Dean moans so beautifully before finally slipping Cas' pants down. 

And then they're pressing together with nothing in the way, and Cas cries out with the intensity of it. Dean runs his hands soothingly over Cas' sides as he shivers with the sensation. Then Dean is kissing him softly, sweetly, anchoring him back to Earth. Cas sighs and relaxes into the kiss. He drives his hips forward again helplessly, groaning as another spike of pleasure shoots through him. 

Something in him is on fire, burning for speed and urgency, but at the same time he wants this to last forever. They may have just confessed their love, but he's been starving for Dean for so long that it still feels like he's going to blink and miss this and never have it again. 

Dean is suddenly pushing gently at him, guiding them towards the bed – oh, yes, of course, people tend to prefer beds for these kinds of activities. He lets himself fall back onto it, pulling Dean along with him. 

The new position has them pressed together in all new places, and he tries to feel everything at once and can't, not when they're pressed so tightly together _there_. He almost thinks he can feel Dean's pulse throbbing against him. Dean props himself up with one elbow and traces the other hand down from Cas' neck over his chest, pausing to trace lightly around his nipples – and that's nice, sends sweet sparks of pleasure through him but isn't overwhelming, and they'll have to explore that more later – then skims his fingers down to the bottom of his stomach. Dean lingers there, stroking through the soft hair almost teasingly. Cas groans deep in his throat and wiggles his hips upwards in encouragement. 

With another shaky breath Dean takes them both in hand. They're already so wet from the anticipation, and when he squeezes lightly Cas digs his fingernails harshly into Dean's back and nearly screams. 

It's good, too good, not enough but too much, and he gasps and shakes with it as Dean slowly slides his fist up and down around them. His hand is so rough, but his cock so smooth and slick, and it's all he can do not to pass out at the beautiful friction from both sides. 

Dean's watching him carefully, his own mouth hanging open in pleasure but his eyes in sharp focus. Cas wonders for one horrible second if Dean's not enjoying this as much as he is. 

But when Dean sees him beginning to relax he moves faster, and of course, Cas should have known already that Dean would be like this. Should have known that Dean would be so attentive, would set his pace by Cas' comfort, would want above all else to take care of him. So Cas lets his eyes roll back in his head and simply _feels_. He shoves his worries and doubts aside for later, because this is not the time, and he'll be damned if he's going to ruin this for himself. 

Dean's head finally drops to Cas' neck, and he can feel Dean's hot breath on his skin. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean groans, pressing breathless kisses to Cas' throat. 

Cas pants desperately, thrusting his hips up into Dean's fist. If he were an angel still he would surely be cracking at the seams, waves of pleasure and joy unable to be contained in this one very small human body. As it is he can only pull Dean closer, irrationally hungry to pull him _inside_ himself, to press their hearts and lungs together so they beat and breathe as one.  
  
He does the only thing he _can_ do and pulls Dean's head up to kiss his breath away. Dean seems unable to hold back the stream of soft moans spilling out of his throat like water, and Cas drinks them up eagerly. He can feel himself rushing towards some peak that's somehow both tantalizing and terrifying. His hands fall away from Dean with a final harsh rake of fingernails over his back and he twists his hands into the sheets, holding on to keep himself from flying apart.  
  
He's dying, _dying,_ writhing and moaning against Dean, thrusting his hips mindlessly, fucking into Dean's hand.  
  
"Cas, fuck, God, oh God, _Cas_ ," Dean sobs into his neck. His free hand skids up the rumpled sheets and finds Cas', prying his fingers up where they claw into the mattress, and laces them together tightly.  
  
"Come on, Cas, come for me, I wanna feel you, wanna _hear_ you, you sound so good, never want to stop, want you like this always, just for me, _fuck_ , Cas, please," Dean pants into his ear.  
  
And then Dean twists his wrist just _so_ and it hits Cas like a tidal wave. He arches up with a gasp. Waves of perfect, lightning-sharp pleasure ripple through him, and he can feel the hot ropes of his own come pulsing out over his trembling stomach. He's distantly aware that he's screaming his throat raw. 

Even as he comes down from the razor-sharp edge of climax, he's lost in the haze of feeling, every atom of his body prickling with pleasure. He can still feel himself pulsing out his release hotly over Dean's hand.  
  
Faintly, as he blinks his way back into conscious thought, he can hear Dean crying out against his neck. Cas squeezes his hand tightly as Dean spasms against him. The feeling, the _knowledge_ that Dean is coming so hard above him, _because_ of him, is almost enough to shoot him back up to the peak himself.  
  
Dean finally goes limp, panting hotly against Cas' skin. The warm stickiness between them is forgotten as Dean collapses onto him, his muscles turned liquid and useless.  
  
"Cas," he sighs. He nuzzles into his neck tenderly and hums with satisfaction. " _Cas_."  
  
"Dean," Cas murmurs in agreement.  
  
They lie pressed together, hands still clenched tightly, feet and legs tangling together in the sheets. 

Somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, listening to Dean's slow, even breaths, Cas slips off to sleep.

  
  
– - -

 

When he wakes up Dean is still pressed against him warmly, cock hard and insistent against his thigh. Cas can't resist shifting himself sideways, his feet ending up somewhere around the pillows, until he can get his mouth around it. 

He knows Dean has woken up when he gasps above him and he feels Dean's hand gripping his calf like he's drowning. 

Cas pulls off briefly. “Good morning, Dean." 

Dean can only moan helplessly in response as Cas sucks him down again, exploring his length with a curious tongue. He feels a sort of profound reverence – this is Dean exposed, Dean vulnerable. This is Dean as he never allowed himself to imagine, hungry and begging for him, squirming beneath him. 

"Fuck, Cas, you feel so good, so hot, your fucking _mouth_ , don't stop, shit, please don't stop," Dean babbles, his hand trembling as he strokes it through Cas' hair. Cas can feel the muscles of his thighs clenching rhythmically as he holds himself back from thrusting deep into Cas' throat.  
  
Cas thinks he would let him, but they can talk about that later.  
  
Dean shifts closer and reaches out, taking Cas' cock in his other hand and stroking. Cas moans around his shaft in approval, relishing the shiver of pleasure that ripples through Dean with the vibration.  
  
Dean pumps his hand in time with Cas' mouth sliding up and down his length. Cas wriggles his hips closer inch by inch, chasing the pleasure of Dean's touch. Dean takes a sudden deep breath and leans in the last few inches, swiping his warm, wet tongue hesitantly over the head of Cas' cock.  
  
Cas is driven over the edge instantly at the shock of sensation, splashing out over Dean's face.  
  
"Oh _fuck_ ," Dean groans, and Cas' mouth fills with the hot taste of _Dean_ as he comes hard down his throat. He suckles him through it hungrily until Dean is mumbling in protest at the overstimulation and pushes weakly at his shoulder.  
  
He lets Dean slide out of his mouth and lays his head on his thigh. They both lie still, panting and overwhelmed.  
  
"Well," Dean says hoarsely once he's caught his breath, wiping Cas' come off his cheek with a lazy hand. "There's a kink I never knew I had."  
  
Cas turns his head and laughs into the skin of Dean's thigh. He can't help it - everything is so _wonderful_ , so perfect. He could bask in this moment forever. 

So of course it's then that a pounding comes at his bedroom door. 

“Cas, everything okay?” 

“Ugh,” Cas groans. “What time is it?” 

Dean blinks blearily at the clock at Cas' bedside. “Only like, seven.” 

“I usually go running with Sam at six,” Cas groans. 

“You're insane, you know that?” Dean mumbles with a fond smile. 

“Cas?” Sam calls again. The doorknob starts to twist. Cas panics – there's nowhere for Dean to hide, and he won't want Sam to know yet, he won't be ready to tell anyone - 

“He's a little busy right now,” Dean yells back. 

There's a long, heavy silence. “Fucking finally,” Sam says. “Am I cooking breakfast for everyone, then?” 

“Hell no. Don't poison our guests. I want them alive to come back for _my_ birthday.” 

“Whatever,” Sam huffs. “Just have clothes on when you come out.” 

“No promises,” Dean calls back. 

 

Sam takes Cas aside after breakfast with a grin. “So things worked out after all,” he says quietly. 

“I suppose they did,” Cas says, watching Dean laughing with his friends, like he's a completely different person than he was the night before. “I admit I didn't expect him to be so...open about it.” Charlie had quite literally squealed with joy when she had walked into the kitchen to find Dean pressing Cas up against the wall as the French toast cooked, kissing him soft and sweet. Dean hadn't pulled away - or even blushed, for once – just winked at her. 

“You know, I've had a lot of time to think about it, watching you two dance around this for so long, and I think I figured it out. It was never that he didn't want to be with you because he was ashamed of it – or at least, if it ever was, it hasn't been for a long time. I mean, for all Kevin and I teased him about it, he never once _denied_ anything. He just...never felt like he deserved you, I think.” 

“How could he ever think that?” 

“You know how he is, Cas. He doesn't feel like he deserves anything.” 

Cas frowns. “We really should work on that.” 

Sam just smiles. 

“But I would never have guessed it!” Garth is saying, hands pressed to his forehead. “You two – really? Why am I always the last to know everything? Charlie _just_ met him and she's known for...” 

“For years, yes,” Charlie grins. 

“At least you didn't have to live with it,” Kevin sighs. “So much tension. So much _pining_.” 

“Ah, yes, and it'll be so much more bearable dealing with them as a couple now,” Charlie deadpans. 

Kevin's eyes widen. “Oh, no.” 

“Kissing all over the place,” Charlie says dreamily. “Making doe eyes at each other over the table. Catching them making out in the corners. Oh, maybe you'll even walk in on them goin' at it on one of your research tables one day.” 

“Oh my god,” Kevin groans, covering his eyes. 

“All over your notes,” she continues. 

Kevin shoves away from the table and runs out of the room, muttering furiously to himself. 

Dean sips his coffee thoughtfully. “Thanks for the ideas,” he says. 

Charlie grins wickedly. “No problem.”

 

Cas is sadder to see Charlie and Garth leave after breakfast than he thought he'd be. For all their visit was brief, the bunker will feel emptier without them. 

“I'll come back and visit, I promise,” Charlie says. “I mean, I gotta be here when Dean finally shows you Star Wars. That's gonna be _amazing_. I've never been there for anyone's first time before! I might have to record it.” 

“Of course I'll come see you, man, we're friends now,” Garth says, crushing Cas in an enthusiastic hug. “Don't you forget that.” 

Still, he watches sadly as they drive away. Dean finally tugs at his arm gently and leads him back inside. 

They make their way back to Cas' room, where Dean looks strangely nervous again in a way he hasn't since the night before. 

Cas frowns and tilts his head. “Dean?” 

“I never gave you your present,” Dean mumbles. “And I don't know if you'll like it.” 

“I'll like anything you give me, Dean.” 

Dean sighs and digs into his pocket, pulling out an unwrapped, plain black box. “This is probably the weirdest thing I've ever given anyone.” 

Inside the box are – _wings_. Small, shimmering black wings, outspread and suspended from a thick leather cord linked to each wingtip. 

“Came with a chain, but the leather'll hold up better. Unless you want it on the chain, I mean, I kept it. I mean, I'm not assuming you want to wear it, but if you do, if you...” 

“Dean,” Cas breathes. He realizes absently that there are tears building up in his eyes. 

“Shit,” Dean mumbles. “Shit, I'm sorry, I should have known it was a bad idea, I'm so sorry.” 

Cas grabs Dean by the shirt and pulls him into a hard kiss. “Don't. Don't you dare,” he growls. He takes the necklace and pulls the cord over his head. He strokes his fingers reverently over the cool metal of the pendant, the solid weight resting comfortably on his chest. “It's perfect.” 

“Looks good on you,” Dean says with a shy smile, voice rough. “Knew it would.” 

Cas holds him close and presses his face into Dean's shirt. “Thank you, Dean.” 

Dean squeezes him tightly and clears his throat. “And I uh, I called the pet store. They've still got that little white kitten, and I asked them to hold her there for us...so I thought maybe later we could go back and get her. I can pick up some allergy medicine on the way in.” 

Cas pulls back just enough to look up at Dean in shock. “Do you mean that?” 

Dean chuckles. “Look, I know I'm an asshole, but you know I wouldn't tease you about this. Yeah, I mean it.” He pokes Cas' side playfully. “ _You're_ cleaning the litter box though. And _you're_ training it to stay out of stuff. Good luck with that, by the way.” 

“Hmm,” Cas sighs happily. “I'm sure I can find someone willing to help me.” 

“Yeah, sure. Someone like Sam.” 

“We'll see.” 

Dean narrows his eyes. “Well, I'm not doing it.” 

“We'll see.” 

Dean groans and tucks his head into Cas' neck. “You're gonna take serious advantage of the fact I'll never be able to say no to you again, aren't you?” 

“Oh, yes. As much as possible.” 

Dean sighs, smoothing his hands up Cas' back. “Well, anyway, you have to think of a name now.” 

Cas runs his fingertips lightly over the smooth metal wings again. “Actually, I already have one in mind.” 

“Yeah? What's that?” 

Cas smiles softly. “Angel.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://lilypond.co.vu/)


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